Missing Sherlock
by MJGx3
Summary: John is grieving. To keep his sanity, he writes letters to his dead best friend. (Johnlock if I get that far.)
1. Chapter 1

Dear Sherlock,

It snowed today. The whole of London went silent for a while. The days are getting longer again and people are still rushing around, trying to get their work done. Everyone's stressed out and a lot of people are becoming sick. You can't imagine how many people I've examined this week. Well, you probably could. I don't feel well either but getting sick is impossible right now. The ambulance needs me and I need the work to keep my mind off of… well, you, actually. It still hurts, Sherlock. More than I thought it could. It's so quiet, Sherlock. There's no-one here to talk off my ears now with brilliant deductions. It's not like other people tried to - talk to me, I mean. But they don't understand. They don't understand what it's like to suddenly be without you. Lestrade wanted to meet up for a pint but I couldn't go. We would have talked about you - at least Greg would have tried to. I just can't do this right now. Mrs Hudson… Dear old Mrs Hudson misses you too. But somehow I feel like I'm the only one truly mourning you. Maybe Mycroft does as well… But I'm not talking to him. I hope his guilt eats him up from inside. Slowly and painfully. It's his fault Moriarty succeeded. Without him you'd still be… It's quiet, Sherlock. Peaceful. But you would have hated that anyway. It's been a week, Sherlock. I still believe in you. Please come back.

Yours truly,

John Watson

* * *

Hello there! This is going to be a very angsty fic and it will be written completely in the form of letters. I intend to finish it but I'm a lazy ass and I'm also quite busy with school. (Bleargh..) This story hasn't got a beta so any mistakes are mine and I'll gladly correct any if you tell me to. Reviews would be lovely since I'm insecure about my writing. Anyway, to much bla-bla, I know. Sorry. Go on reading now, if you want! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Sherlock,

I thought I had seen you today. Funny little brains, aren't they? Making up things… Seeing things that aren't really there. Am I going insane? Probably. You see, I was walking down the street - going to Tesco's to buy some food. I'm rarely eating these days anyway and Mrs Hudson kept nagging about it, so I had to go. She even made me dress up appropriately. So, I went down the street when I suddenly saw you at the end of the road. I couldn't believe my eyes, of course I couldn't. You were so far away and your coat was flattering in the icy wind. You looked at me for a moment and then walked away. I _know_ it was just a stranger but that still couldn't stop this damn hope flaring up in me. I asked you for a miracle, Sherlock, and you still haven't answered me. That's rude. But you don't care about being rude, do you? No, I didn't think so. Is it that impossible for you to come back? I miss you, Sherlock. I really do. The people in the street are looking at me. They're staring. When you were still… around it never bothered me. They were staring because they were admiring you. I always felt so proud walking next to you, being allowed to stay that close. That sounds pathetic, doesn't it? But it's the truth. Even if they didn't know who you are, they instantly knew you were something special. It's a pity not more people got to know you. You are so brilliant, Sherlock. You truly are. The people who stare at me now… They pity me. They see poor little John Watson who fell for the great fraud Sherlock Holmes. They look at me for a second and see how miserable I am. But, Sherlock, I still believe in you. You know that, don't you? Maybe next time, when I see you out in the streets, you won't walk away. Maybe next time you'll come home?

Yours truly,

John Watson


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Sherlock,

It's been a long day today. It's getting harder to ignore the fact that you're… gone. I still catch myself making two cups of tea, two cups of coffee, two mugs on the table, sitting together. I haven't moved any of your stuff. Except for the body parts. They were slowly rotting and I just couldn't keep them in the fridge anymore. I'm sorry. If.. _When_ you come back, Molly will get you new ones, alright? The other experiments will stay uncompleted until you'll be back. You will be back, won't you, Sherlock? It would be your greatest triumph yet if you could cheat death. I'm so tired, Sherlock. It's like you drained all of my energy, my life force, when you left. I already felt like that once - when I came back from Afghanistan. But then I met you. You and your brilliant mind. You gave me a reason to live again. I was so happy.

Why did you leave, Sherlock? Why couldn't I come with you? I wish I could be with you, follow you to wherever you are right now. To remind you to eat, to sleep. Who's taking care of you now? Is there anyone?

Your brother is still keeping tracks on me. He thinks he is sneaky but I can see the security cameras and I can see those "body guards" that follow me around. I understand now, why you hated being watched by him like that. I have to keep myself from walking to his office and to just hit him right in his face. I really don't know how long I can resist it anymore. But if I tried, he'd probably know straight away. I wonder whether he'd let me hit him, endure the pain, or if he would let somebody stop me before I even left the flat. I might try just to see his reaction. I'd like to annoy him a bit, keep him on his toes. I think that would make you smile, chuckle a little even? I wish I could see that, Sherlock.

I wish you were here. Come back soon, will you?

Yours truly,

John Watson


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Sherlock,

You know I miss you, right? Come back. Home. Bakerstreet needs you. _I_ need you…

Yours truly,

John Watson


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Sherlock,

I actually hit Mycroft today. To be fair, he gave me a fright when I came home and he was just sitting there, in the dark. He took it quite well, I guess. I think it was some kind of relief for him, being hit by me. You know? Like the guilt was getting a bit smaller. Afterwards we sat down. It was silent, a bit awkward. A bit not good. He didn't try to apologise and I think, in the end, that's what made me talk to him. I still don't get him, I can't deduce him like you did. But I know he really is sorry. For everything. I think he misses you too. No, I know he does. It was good to talk to someone who understands. At least I think he does.

I don't know if we'll be able to be friends - can you even be friends with the one and only Mycroft Holmes?! - or if I can ever forgive him for betraying us. Betraying you. All I know is that he'll be around even more now.

You once said that if you get one Holmes, you get the other for free. I just wish you were still here, Sherlock. I really do.

Yours truly,

John Watson


End file.
